


8. An Ocean of You

by annabeth



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, in this lifetime, otayuri - Freeform, post Otabek's retirement, vacation fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 06:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15943982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/pseuds/annabeth
Summary: Otabek and Yuri take a trip to San Diego and spend a few days on the beach.





	8. An Ocean of You

"This was a great idea," Yuri says, pushing up the ends of Otabek's hair and kissing the back of his neck. "Should have gotten your hair buzzed again before we left, though."

Otabek nods around a sip of coffee, his eyes on his iPad, but once he swallows he glances behind him with a slight smile, taking in the wind-tousled look of Yuri's own longer hair. "You've gotten pretty good at doing it now. If you don't mind, you can touch it up later before bed."

"Beach day tomorrow," Yuri sings out, then laughs; his breath is a soft warm puff against Otabek's neck. "Oh my God, I have to go FaceTime Mila and make sure Potya is doing okay."

"She's fine, Yura," Otabek says. "We're only gonna be gone a few days."

"I wish we could've gotten a longer time here," Yuri says wistfully. "Lilia is a training machine. Even the off-season is a lot of work."

Otabek sets down his iPad and fills his mouth with the last of his coffee. He gulps it down and then turns, kissing Yuri quickly.

"A beach house, with my favorite person, in San Diego? Let's not think about work." Otabek sticks a cold hand up Yuri's t-shirt and tickles his belly for a second, making Yuri snort with laughter.

"Stop, stop! I'll be right back—calling Mila. Because—"

"—Potya might miss you. I know." Otabek watches him dash away on limber legs, not deigning to mention that Yuri's away at competitions more than he's home, and Potya is used to that by now. For some reason, the idea that she's alone in their apartment without them—apart from Mila cat-sitting—has Yuri anxious.

Otabek restarts the mix he's been working on and, even though he should concentrate, listens with half an ear as Yuri babbles to his cat. Mila's voice can be heard, too, but Yuri is clearly focused on his baby, and no one will distract him from it.

Or maybe they will… Otabek gives up on working for the time being—taking his own advice—and slips close to the bedroom where Yuri is. He drops his leather jacket with its customary, easily identifiable sound. He unzips his jeans.

Down to his t-shirt and boxers, he walks into the bathroom and turns the shower on.

A big smile spreads across his face as he hears Yuri's voice falter. Oh yes, some things do distract him, and quite well, too…

++

"You did that on purpose," Yuri accuses, and Otabek knows he can see the shadow of his body through the shower curtain. He wants to sound angry—but they both know how enamored Yuri is of Otabek's body. Otabek would swear he can hear Yuri's mouth watering.

"Can't hear you," Otabek says, raising his voice over the water, which splashes hot and wet over him. He begins to sing, which he only ever does in Yuri's hearing, and rubs down his hair; Yuri's right, it is getting long. He laughs inwardly as Yuri stomps around the bathroom, then yelps when the water turns scalding as Yuri flushes the toilet.

He sometimes still forgets that Yuri has a vindictive streak. It's never nasty, but if Otabek is gonna be playful with him, he's going to give it right back. Otabek jumps out of the spray, quickly twisting the faucets. He gets out of the shower stall and Yuri's standing there, holding out his towel but staring greedily at him.

"You're an ass," Yuri says, but his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip; Otabek can't help himself, he watches that little habit with fascination. He's always been fascinated by Yuri, and the older he gets, the dirtier his thoughts get, but part of them, like a silver lining, always remains pure. So even as he thinks about that tongue, and that lip when it's swollen and wine-red, there's part of him that is caught up in the fairy-like atmosphere that Yuri creates just by breathing.

"Says the guy who deliberately turned my shower into a boiling waterfall," Otabek replies. He plops down on the closed toilet lid. "You wanna do my hair now? I washed it."

"Wish you would've let me wash it," Yuri grumps, but he disappears into the bedroom for a minute, returning with the electric hair clippers and the blow dryer. He dries Otabek's hair quickly, and as he settles in to buzzing the underside again, he says, "You packed the sunscreen, right?"

"As long as it was on the list—"

"—'then I'll pack it,' right," Yuri finishes. They both laugh, and Yuri's resentment melts away. Otabek hadn't been trying to make him angry with his impromptu shower, just tease him a little—but since Otabek retired, they spend more time alone together, and they get on each other's nerves more than they used to.

Nothing huge or serious, not yet, but it's like they're learning how to be around each other all over again—part of what led them to decide on this vacation. It had actually been Yuri's idea: some time alone, you and me, and we won't think about how much things are gonna change now.

Otabek sighs, feeling Yuri's hands in his hair, and it's soothing even as his mind wanders around the idea of never skating professionally again. Yuri's right: the beach tomorrow sounds like a great idea.

++

"I'm going to eat everything while on this vacation, and Lilia can't stop me!" Yuri jumps on the end of the cart Otabek is pushing, causing it to become heavy and Otabek falters; Yuri makes a rude gesture and Otabek laughs.

"You're on an off-season diet anyway, Yura," he points out, but Yuri, ever energetic, has planted his feet on solid ground again and he throws Otabek a smile over his shoulder as they peruse the first aisle in the grocery store.

"Yeah, but Lilia, oh my God, you know how she is. She'll have an absolute shit-fit if I gain so much as an ounce—so I'm gonna be hitting the studio and the ice a lot when we get back to make up for it. But it will be totally worth it!"

"In that case, what do you want to get? We have to stock the beach house for a week. Or at least enough food for lunches and breakfast, if you want to get dinner somewhere."

"Hot dogs," Yuri says immediately. "And ice cream."

"And coffee," Otabek adds, typing the things on a list in his iPhone. "What kind of ice cream?"

"The more fattening, the better," Yuri says with a grin. "Something with a lot of chocolate, maybe."

"Or cookie dough," Otabek mumbles as his thumbs fly over the onscreen keyboard. "Nikolai wants to know if we've seen Balboa Park yet. I said no and he asked if you've already gone off your training diet."

"Don't tell him! He means well but he always rats me out to Lilia." Yuri grabs a bag of gummy worms off one of the endcaps. "Gummy worms, Beka. Wait till you see what I can do with these."

"I think I can guess," Otabek says wryly, his heart kicking in his chest. Yuri is a terrible tease. "We do have to buy, you know, actual real food too."

"Don't be a limp noodle," Yuri says, snatching a bag of potato chips. "We need to get nacho cheese sauce."

"You really weren't kidding about going off your diet," Otabek says. "Okay, Yura, get serious. We have to be able to actually eat for a week." Sometimes Otabek hates being the voice of reason, because Yuri pouts, putting back the honey-mustard pretzels he so clearly wants to buy. "You can get those," Otabek sighs. Grocery shopping with Yuri is always an adventure. It's why, back home in Saint Petersburg, Otabek usually does it himself.

It's too much temptation for Yuri, all the snacks and candy and treats he can't eat if he wants to continue to be an elite athlete. Sometimes Otabek will mention Katsuki to Yuri if he's complaining too much about his lean diet, and that will earn him a glare, but then Yuri will change the subject, either suggesting a movie to watch or a video game to play.

It's hard, knowing that he has all the time in the world for that stuff now. His feet feel heavy suddenly, like he can still sense the skates on them. He wonders if that feeling will ever go away, or if it's like having a phantom limb, the pain there to resonate forever.

Otabek shakes his head to throw off the morose thoughts and browses the aisles—getting the makings for salads, and hamburger meat; a loaf of bread, a carton of eggs, and a slab of bacon; plus a few other things he knows Yuri likes—as Yuri trots besides him, one hand on Otabek's forearm, and he has to admit, it's nice.

No, it's more than nice. It's heart-striking, having Yuri hang onto him like he owns Otabek. Otabek swallows a sigh and pushes the cart, his heart drowning in feelings.

++

"You're going to burn," Otabek says, even as Yuri shakes his long blond hair out in the sun, lying back on the sand on a towel. "Yura, I didn't forget the sunscreen, and your skin is so pale—"

"Just a few minutes. For a quick tan. Okay?" Yuri wheedles, but Otabek is adamant.

"You'll be lobster in a few minutes. Let me put some sunscreen on your back."

"Beka! You're mother-henning me again. I'm not fifteen anymore—"

"I know that, but—"

The sun is absolutely brilliant white-hot in the sky, and Yuri's hair is a fiery gold halo around his face as he sits up.

"Beka," he says softly, "relax, it will be okay. Just the two of us, remember? Just us and no worries."

Otabek clenches his hands briefly. It's so easy to say that, but when this vacation is over—when this off-season is over—Yuri will still be one of the top skaters in the world. What will Otabek be? What does Otabek have left, besides his music and Yuri? He doesn't even know how badly it might hurt, to watch Yuri skate out there for a performance, and support him knowing that there will be no davai in return anymore.

"Come here," Yuri whispers, speaking softly enough that Otabek is moving in close just to hear him. On a San Diego beach, far from Russia or Kazakhstan, there's less chance of them being recognized, so when Yuri's lips flutter against his, when he wraps an arm around Otabek's broad back and pulls him in even closer, Otabek doesn't even question the wisdom of it. He just lets Yuri lead him where Yuri wants to go, knowing as he does that Yuri knows Otabek wants to go there, too.

And even though it's brief and chaste—they're still in public, after all—Yuri has drawn the poison out of the wound, leaving only sweetness behind, and Otabek ducks his head and licks his lips. He tastes Yuri's chapstick, slathered on to keep his lips from burning, and feels a laugh bubble up in his chest.

"You put the chapstick on but not the sunscreen?" he asks, and Yuri gives a one-shouldered shrug.

"Five minutes. I'll do your back. Turn around."

++

Fifteen minutes later, Otabek is dripping sweat from the heat and slathering the cool white stuff over Yuri's sun-reddened skin. It's only just beginning to burn, but he restrains himself from saying I told you so and just concentrates on putting the lotion on so the burn won't get any worse.

"Did you pack the crossword puzzle book in the bag?" Yuri asks, his green eyes hidden behind fashionable black sunglasses. Otabek looks a little closer—those are his sunglasses. Thankfully he has more than one pair, a fact Yuri knows well by now.

"If you left it out on the table this morning—" Otabek begins, then trails off. Yuri doesn't chime in with the rest this time, but they both know how that sentence ends.

Yuri's not quite as slender as he used to be, and Otabek appreciates the view of the wings of his shoulders as they flex and the soft, intriguing taper of his back down to where it disappears into his bathing suit, a pair of loose-fitting green boxer-style, picked by Otabek to match his eyes. The bathing suit is already slipping down, and the dimples above his ass are visible.

Otabek finishes rubbing the lotion in and, lightning-quick, depresses each dimple with his fingers. The skin whitens under the sunburn and Yuri, instead of a complaint, arches back, stretching like a cat. His head falls back, too, and his hair brushes over Otabek's bare chest, and suddenly he wishes that they were alone on this beach, or back in the beach house, so he could kiss and touch Yuri until his heart's content.

Not that he's ever succeeded in doing that; his heart is insatiable where Yuri is concerned, and sometimes it's almost frightening, knowing that the boy he crushed on at fifteen is all his now.

Hopefully it lasts, Otabek allows himself to think, but only for a moment. Things like this are still a bit too new to apply lasting labels to them.

Otabek guides Yuri's head to the side and kisses his neck, right over where he might bite if he were a vampire. Yuri trembles on a sigh, then giggles and drifts away, out of immediate reach.

Otabek pulls out an adventure novel and lies back on his towel, book held over his head, and listens to the scratch of Yuri's pen—he never does the puzzles in pencil—and the low mutter of his voice as he works out the clues of his crossword.

The crash of the waves, the scent of the sea, the heat of the sun, it's intoxicating, and Otabek is dozing before he realizes it, that sound of the sea breaking over the shore lulling him just as much as Yuri's lowered voice does.

And then he's asleep.

++

"Beka, wake up, it's time for lunch." Yuri's voice is right by his ear, and Otabek can feel sand itching in embarrassing and uncomfortable places as he stretches and rolls onto his side. He must have slept deeply enough for the sand to worm its way in.

"Did you pack the sandwiches?" he teases, and Yuri swats him with a paper plate.

"You know I did," he says, and as Otabek yawns and hauls himself into a sitting position, he watches those beautiful slender fingers as Yuri arranges their sandwiches on plates. He gives Otabek a napkin and his plate and then drags his towel closer so he can lean their shoulders together as they eat.

"You haven't burned anymore," Otabek says. "I don't think. But you're pretty red."

"No thanks to you," Yuri says, then turns Otabek's face towards him and licks a crumb from his lower lip.

It occurs to him, suddenly, that this is really real, and really happening: on a vacation like lovers, acting like lovers—how had it not sunk in completely yet, that that's what they've become? Three little words and everything has changed—yet everything critical has remained the same. Yuri is still a green-eyed blond, even though he's as tall as Otabek now. He's still rough-edged with a volcanic temper, and he's still Otabek's best friend.

"I love you," he murmurs, just to hear the words again and know they're true.

"I know," Yuri says, laughing and pulling Otabek's sunglasses off his face, then his own, exposing those green eyes Otabek loves to get lost in, like traipsing through a forest where everything is green for miles. "I love you, too, Beka."

His breath is warm across Otabek's lips. He runs his fingers through Otabek's hair, and pets the freshly-shorn parts.

"Did you finish your puzzle?" Otabek asks, and Yuri nods.

"You fell asleep and dropped your book in the sand," Yuri adds. He grins. "I'll help you wash all that sand out of your—"

"Yura!" Otabek gasps, feeling scandalized—they're in public! And he's not eighteen anymore, to be drawn into overtly sexual escapades on ice.

"—bathing suit," he finishes with a cheeky smirk. Otabek's bathing suit is tighter than Yuri's and a lighter green, because he never knew what his favorite color was until he looked into those eyes all those years ago at Yakov's summer camp.

"That is totally not what you were going to say," Otabek hisses in a whisper.

"Prove it," Yuri says, and then he's on his feet and running over the sand towards the water. Like so many times in their life, Otabek is chasing after him, and dammit, but Yuri's getting dunked as soon as he catches him. It will be an epic showdown, of that he's sure. But it's super hot and the ocean looks like a glitter of sweet blue relief, and Otabek doesn't mind the thought of going under and getting thoroughly soaked.

++

"Look, Beka!" Yuri blurts out, both of them soaked in salt water. "An ice cream vendor!"

Otabek supposes it's probably not a real day at the beach unless they have ice cream, so he smiles at Yuri. His heart gives a pang as it reminds him that it no longer matters if he eats his weight in ice cream. Then he remembers something that distracts him from his melancholy thoughts.

"Oh, shit," he says, laughing. "I left my money in my bathing suit!" Otabek pulls out several soaked bills. "They had a bath in the ocean."

"I have some in the beach bag," Yuri says. "We'll have to lay your bills out to dry on the counter when we get back." He deliberately bumps into Otabek's side as they make their way back to their towels, the bag, and the umbrella that Otabek had cursed and swore while putting it in the sand.

"Okay, you grab the money, I'll meet you there, in line," Otabek says, wincing as the hot sand sticks like glue to his wet feet. He slogs through the sand to the vendor, and in moments, Yuri is back by his side, holding the money.

For just a split second, Otabek wishes that it was their money, not just separate.

"I'm getting a Fudgesicle," Yuri says, pointing. "The more chocolate, the better."

"Ice cream sandwich," Otabek replies. They get to the front and tell the young woman what they want, and Yuri pays as Otabek takes the ice creams she hands to them.

Yuri opens his and starts licking his ice cream with such relish that Otabek blushes. He's glad that his bathing suit is still cold from the ocean, because Yuri's making heat race along his nerve endings with the pleasure he's taking in eating his ice cream.

"It's dripping," Otabek says as he unwraps his ice cream sandwich. "You're gonna have to bite it."

"Heathen!" Yuri gasps. "You don't bite these! You savor them." To demonstrate, he begins licking it even more thoroughly and slowly.

Otabek chomps merrily on his as they plop onto their towels, and finishes it much quicker than Yuri, whose fudge pop is sending little drizzles of chocolatey melt down over his fingers. When he finally eats it all, his face is covered in chocolate, and Otabek grabs his hand, lifts it to his mouth, and very carefully licks the remaining ice cream off. Yuri's eyes darken to an intense, in-a-wood-glade-green, and he fumbles with the napkin he's retrieving to wipe his face.

"No," he says in a low voice when Otabek leans in. "No, Beka. It's a bad idea."

Yuri's right: it is a bad idea, but Otabek gives him a quick kiss anyway. He doesn't linger, even though he'd like to stay awhile; he just lets their lips meet softly, tasting the chocolate ice cream glaze on Yuri's and groaning as he pulls back.

"Ice cream and Yuri Plisetsky is a dangerous combination," he says in a low tone, and Yuri's face seems to be flushed from more than just sunburn.

"Otabek Altin in nothing but a bathing suit is pretty dangerous too," Yuri murmurs back, and Otabek catches his breath on a wheeze.

Otabek feels his own blush sweep down his chest, and has to bite his lip and stare into Yuri's eyes so that he doesn't look down and give himself away.

But Yuri smiles, the mischievous one he saves for Otabek, and he knows that Yuri's already aware of what he's doing to him.

"Go throw away the wrappers," Otabek says. Yuri flashes him one last heated look and stands. Hopefully no one notices the way Otabek's gaze is fixed on Yuri's ass as he walks away, hips swinging. Otabek licks his lips one more time: they still taste of chocolate and Yuri.

++

Inside the bathhouse, Otabek has to settle for showering the sand off alone before they walk the boardwalk back to the beach house they're renting. He tugs his bathing suit away from his hips and uses the stream of water from the shower to try and rinse away as much crotch-sand as he can, thinking with a warm little thrill of what Yuri said on the beach earlier.

He's quicker than Yuri; he's back out, dripping water, as Yuri finishes up. Then Yuri takes his hand and weaves their fingers together as they stroll down the boardwalk, the sun lower in the sky, evening still a hot promise to come.

Despite the fact that he started out soaking wet, by the time they unlock the door to the beach house, the sun has dried Otabek completely, including his hair, by the looks of the expression on Yuri's face—it's positively gleeful.

"No, Yura, don't—" Otabek groans, but it's too late.

"You get so much hotter just from having goofy hair, Beka," Yuri purrs, and leans around him, shuts the door, presses him back against it. This kiss is definitely not as chaste as the one they shared on the beach, and it sets Otabek's heart to pounding and ignites a throbbing in his ears.

"I've still got sand in nooks and crannies," Otabek says, dropping their beach bag. "Help me wash it off?"

"With pleasure," Yuri purrs again, and he pulls on Otabek's hand, still linked with his. "And then dinner."

++

Yuri's hands are gentle and reverent as they glide over Otabek's body, soaping and then rinsing, and Otabek tries not to let his own hands tremble as he returns the favor. When they climb out, they dry each other off, and Yuri blow dries both of their hair, and then it's time for Yuri to lie on his stomach on the bed and let Otabek massage in the aloe vera for his sunburn.

For awhile, they manage to forget about dinner, because it's still early. Then they cook and eat quickly—Yuri begs for hot dogs, even though they've already eaten those on the boardwalk this week—so that they can get back in bed and have a chance to just veg and relax.

As they lie side-by-side in the bed, Yuri trails his fingers back and forth over Otabek's abdomen and chest, and hums something quiet, knowing as always that music soothes Otabek's soul. It always has—the only thing that soothes it more is Yuri himself.

"What are you thinking about?" Yuri asks, but it's obvious that he knows. Otabek breathes out a sigh and turns to meet those eyes in the twilit darkness.

"Who am I without skating, Yura? Not only do I feel like I don't even know myself anymore, I'm afraid that—" but those words hurt too much to say too fast. He knows how badly they break him up inside, like juggling shards of glass in his chest cavity, and he knows the power they have. How badly they could hurt Yuri.

He just…

"Just tell me," Yuri says, reminding Otabek of the maturity he's gained. He's not a fifteen-year-old punk or Russian fairy anymore. He doesn't need to be inured from life's painful moments anymore—not that he ever really did, even though back when Otabek was eighteen, all he'd wanted to do was protect Yuri.

"I'm afraid I'll resent you," he says in the rush he was trying to avoid. "What if this, me retiring, breaks us? I can't lose you."

"You won't," Yuri says. "Even if you feel resentment, we'll talk about it, and we'll get through it. You won't be alone, Beka. And you know I won't allow you to walk all over me if you get angry. You know I can handle myself."

Otabek wants promises, words that he can use to clobber the painful ones cluttering up his chest, but he knows that's not realistic.

"We could hurt each other," Otabek whispers, feeling ashamed, and so small. "I thought I could just, you know, quit skating and that…" He pauses, not sure of what he wants to say next.

"That could happen anyway, and probably will. But this is real love, Beka, the kind that can endure hardship and pain. Life is pain. But we have each other."

Yuri's fingers softly trace little figure eights over his skin.

Otabek takes a deep, deep breath. "I thought I could step away from skating, concentrate on music, but, Yura, it hurts so damn bad."

"I know, Beka," Yuri says, and kisses his shoulder, then his bicep. "You can still skate for fun, you know. We can do that together. But for tonight…" He kisses a pathway up to Otabek's lips, and for a time, the loud symphony of the waves on the beach covers any noise they might make.

++

Morning dawns bright and beautiful, the sun slanting in over them where they lie, rumpled, amongst the bedsheets, Yuri's hair half caught under Otabek's arm—a fact they find out when Yuri opens his eyes, yawns, and attempts to move his head.

"Ow, fuck!" he curses, and Otabek quickly unpins his hair. They roll around on the bed, each trying to untangle from the other. "You're making breakfast," Yuri says finally, as a cool breeze blows in off the ocean.

"Fine with me, you always burn the bacon," Otabek replies fondly. He's feeling a little better in the light of morning.

"That's because I hardly ever get to eat bacon, so how was I supposed to learn to fry it? Besides, burned bacon is the best."

"I'll be sure to burn yours, then," Otabek says, quickly sidestepping the pillow aimed at him. "But we'll do the dishes together, okay?"

"You wash and I'll dry?" Yuri asks. He abandons the pillow mode of attack and settles on throwing his body on top of Otabek.

As he does it, Otabek remembers being twelve years old again, and not limber enough, not flexible enough, and how Yuri helped him get over his mental hurdles in order to be able to skate like only Otabek can. And he remembers his wish.

"You know, Yura, maybe retirement won't be so bad after all," he says, and captures Yuri in his arms, tightening them around his back. He holds him in place and kisses him, his beautiful, bendy, fey-like Yura.

Otabek's even less flexible now than he's ever been, and he can't keep up with Yuri anymore when it comes to skating. It's time. He'd known it was time—but Yuri's flying attack, his lithe limbs and contortionist body, have reminded Otabek why he made this decision.

But then again, Yuri's reassurances had helped, too. Yuri didn't lie and say everything would be perfect: he was honest and direct, and somehow, that eases Otabek's mind.

"I'm so happy to be here with you," Yuri says when Otabek allows him to breathe again, "but I need to check on Potya before we go back down to the beach."

"Okay," Otabek says, "but remember: breakfast will be waiting." He knows that, as much as Yuri loves his cat, he also adores food. Food will eventually win out over talking to an indifferent cat over FaceTime.

++

Eventually, two days turns into four, and four into seven, and it's time to go home. Yuri shakes the sand out of his towel for the last time, and like every time, Otabek has to turn his head to avoid getting any in his eyes.

"I'm gonna miss this," he says, staring out over the water.

"I know," Yuri says, and Otabek knows that Yuri understands the depth of what he means. It's not just a vacation that's ending, but the career Otabek built his life around, the hard work, the effort, the blood, the injuries—all of it. "We can come back," Yuri adds.

Unspoken is that maybe they should come back again once Yuri retires. That they could make this their permanent vacation spot.

"There's even an ice rink not too far away," Yuri continues. "In Mira Mesa. I looked it up last night while you were in the shower. We could skate."

"That's a great idea," Otabek says. "Let's do that tonight, before we have to drive to the airport tomorrow."

"It's a date," Yuri says, grabbing Otabek's arm and swinging his body in close, planting a kiss on his mouth that makes his world rock and the nerves in his lips sing.


End file.
